


In the Interest of Time

by airy_nothing



Category: Glee
Genre: 5x01, Blam, Episode: s05e01 Love Love Love, Gap Filler, Klaine, Marriage Proposal, Multi, blina, samblina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 07:58:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1258837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airy_nothing/pseuds/airy_nothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine makes a lot of plans. The story of how he orchestrates the proposal (with Sam and Tina's help) and tries to keep it secret from his boyfriend, and why three show choirs get to witness Kurt’s answer—but Blaine’s parents don’t even know about the question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Secret Keeper

**Author's Note:**

> Set before and during the events of 5x01, “Love, Love, Love.” This story makes me happy: there's a lot of friendship here, and thinking back to Blaine at this time, a lot on his thoughts about Kurt and marriage and his (and their) future. 
> 
> Enjoy, and let me know what you think, either on [Tumblr](http://airy-nothing.tumblr.com) or here on AO3.

“It's being here now that's important. There's no past and there's no future. Time is a very misleading thing. All there is ever, is the now. We can gain experience from the past, but we can't relive it; and we can hope for the future, but we don't know if there is one.”

— _George Harrison, The Beatles_  

The snap of the bathroom door being shut startles Blaine awake. As he orients himself in place and time, he feels his cheek resting half against the grainy surface of his desk, half against the smooth pages of his open planner. It’s dark in his room, aside from the work lamp’s light. Blaine lets the bulb’s warmth seep into his skin as if he's just a turtle basking on a log, waiting for sunlight to loosen stiff limbs.

It’s late. It’s early. 

It’s five in the morning, apparently—Blaine can tell by the glow emanating from beneath his closed bedroom door. He listens to the familiar sounds of his parents beginning their day: the creak of the hallway floorboard just past his room, the beep of a heated iron, the clatter of toothbrushes and hairstyling tools, the hum of the dishwasher downstairs.

He blinks, and memories of the day before (or _days,_ which blend together now with nearly sleepless nights) cause his heart to lurch. He jolts upright, remembering suddenly the state of his life. Blaine fixes on the planner—slightly drool-covered now—and all of its lists. Lists everywhere, even in the margins: lists of things he’d like to do if he could manage them, lists of things that absolutely _have_ to be done. And then a shorter list, an uninspired one, of homework to be completed, of college applications that need following up on. There are just so many things he needs to _do_. 

So he wipes the sleep from his eyes, clicks his pen and gets back to work. 

Even without a full night’s rest he feels at least somewhat refreshed. Thinking, prioritizing, deciding—all of these are easier at the moment, and just like that he is confident again, sure. Quickly drawing lines across the page, he connects tasks listed on one side to people who could do them on the other. He decides what to delegate: the rose petals, the costume arrangements, the trumpet guard. He has to simply _trust_ , even as he senses himself clutch at certain details over which he’s less willing to give up control. 

Choreography, for instance. 

_What's the theme?_ he imagines Cooper asking, but this time the answer’s easy, as Blaine pictures a path through halls full of history, a route that ends and begins with a staircase: the theme is _love_.

As he works, a yawn winds its way through his entire body, making it shudder. He needs to get moving. The day’s tasks can’t be passed on to someone else, no matter how kind or willing Sam or Tina might be. And Tina . . . _Oh._ Blaine quickly jots down in the planner, “Call the girls to the auditorium after school tomorrow.” He rubs his forehead, willing himself to remember to find time to practice left-handed bass. Assuming the guys want to go along with the idea he’s been forming in his mind.

All he can do in the face of the chaos is chuckle and shake his head. He isn’t complaining. 

The next yawn contorts his face worse than the last one, so he stands and stretches, then impulsively, extends his arms and spins, because _he is Kurt’s boyfriend again._ Blaine throws open his closet and pulls a green polo from its hanger. He feels _lucky_. He has friends. He has his lover back. 

And at the moment, he has a plan for the future. 

 

Downstairs his parents are busy making lunches and searching for cell phones. As usual, they chat back and forth about clients and meetings; they jokingly share predictions about the exact time dinner will begin that night. Blaine knows by now that dinner is always late, no matter his parents’ good intentions. He stands watching his mother and father from the edge of the room, smiling, not wanting to interrupt the routine—he’s been excited to tell them about Kurt, but has barely crossed paths with either of them over the last couple of days. As he sees them collect their things and begin walking toward the door to the garage, Blaine knows he’s running out of time, and the pressure of it all mixed with the joy he’s feeling starts bubbling up inside him.

“Wait!” he blurts, moving closer. “I have an announcement before you both go!” Then Blaine just _beams_. He knows exactly the kind of goofy grin he’s wearing, and he doesn’t care. He's already bouncing on his toes with delight _._

His parents both pause, then look back at him expectantly. His mother’s gasp shifts quickly to a smile as she steps forward to ask, “You heard back from one of the schools, already?” 

His father chimes in. “That’s great, Blaine! Which one?”

Blaine’s smile falters as he realizes what he’d said, exactly, and why now, the news _he_ is most excited to share can’t possibly live up to his parents’ expectations. A little defeated, but still smiling, he shrugs and says, “Actually, I just wanted you to know that Kurt and I are back together.”

Did he imagine it? The glint of disapproval in his father’s eyes, a look of disappointment in his mother’s?

“Say something,” he prods. He looks back and forth between the two of them, searching. “Are you . . . happy for me?” he ventures.

His mother is first to speak up. “Of course we are, honey,” she soothes, reaching out to grasp Blaine by the arm. “You’re going to tell us later how that came to be, I hope? Maybe at dinner?”

“That’s quite an announcement,” his father says carefully before adding, “and kind of a big step, you know, since you’re getting ready to go off to college this fall? I know you have your heart set on New York, but you _did_ apply elsewhere . . .”

Blaine can’t even stop himself from rolling his eyes at the remark, which stings. “Dad—“ he trails off. 

“I’m just saying,” replies his dad. “It’s a big, wide world out there, and you’re _young_. That doesn’t mean I’m not happy for you, too, okay?”

His mother looks at him fondly, then reaches up to brush his cheek. “Always so many big plans . . . Have a wonderful day, Blaine, and we’ll talk later tonight.”

“Sure, Mom,” Blaine nods, before giving his dad a smile, too. His dad moves as if to rustle his son’s hair, then gives him a teasing knock on the head instead, which makes Blaine laugh. After that his parents head out to the garage, and the house is quiet again.

Blaine busies himself with collecting what he needs for his own lunch. Several minutes pass before he realizes no sounds are coming from the garage. No trunk being opened and slammed shut. Just silence. He can’t help but imagine the hushed conversation his parents are likely having about him.

He also wonders, guiltily, what they would think if they knew what he was _now_ planning. Or what he’d already attempted and failed at, for that matter: in the hallway with Kurt before Regionals, or in the choir room as Mr. Schue and Miss Pillsbury exchanged vows of their own. The first time hadn’t felt right because he hadn’t bought a ring yet, and the second time he’d hesitated because . . . well, Blaine had to admit it’d just seemed _rude,_ to pull focus from another couple on their own wedding day. He had to acknowledge, though, that the austerity of the ceremony—the location, the attire, the guests, the roses—sparked in Blaine the desire to want _more_ from his and Kurt’s moment. 

It wasn’t just about asking the question and getting an answer, he’d realized then. For Blaine, it had quickly become much more monumental than that. In some ways, experiencing Mr. Schue’s wedding— _weddings—_ only highlighted how easy it was for straight couples. Mr. Schue and Miss Pillsbury could get married in a church, or choose not to. What did it matter? They could get married anywhere. They could get married on a whim. Standing there that day, with the velvet ring box in hand, Blaine had wondered at his own proposal plan, or at Jan and Liz’s for that matter, because even if you got a “yes” (and Jan did, she so beautifully _did)_ , there was still the reality: nothing could be _done_ with that answer, not in Ohio at any rate. Not yet _._ But there was hope now; things were changing, and as he’d put the ring box back in his pants pocket, he’d already begun formulating a new plan. Ohio had seen plenty of proposals, he’d figured. Maybe what it needed now was a _statement_. 

The cars rumbling to life in the garage at last bring Blaine back to the present, back to thoughts of his parents. Pulling a fork from the kitchen drawer and dropping it into a lunch bag, he wonders: if Kurt actually says _yes_ , to marriage, what will his parents’ reaction even _be?_ He remembers Mr. Hummel’s hesitation—his reluctance to give even a simple blessing. Even further back in his memory is Rachel and Finn’s failed wedding, and _all_ the parents’ reluctance to support it, even as they pretended to. Which had always been sort of confusing. 

Honestly, Blaine thinks, he is _happy_ right now, happy to have Kurt back in his life—and happy to have a chance at showing him just how he feels about their future. He doesn’t care to listen to others’ disapproval.

Because frankly, none of it matters.

And so he decides to keep it secret, for now.

 

By mid-morning Blaine’s sitting in science class, jigging a nervous leg as he watches the clock. He feels a puff of air tickling his ear; it’s Tina whispering, “Calm down! You’ve got plenty of time to go there and get back.” He looks at her and smiles encouragingly, but _she doesn’t know._ She doesn’t know what he _knows_ , that’s he’s seen her isolating herself from them. She doesn’t know what he’s planning, not for Kurt but for _her,_ just her, and then the bell rings amidst the shuffle of papers and feet, and she’s wrong, there isn’t _time_. He’s the first one out the door, Tina clomping her heels behind him as she tries to keep up. 

“Good Luck!” she shouts, and he looks back over his shoulder in thanks before running to his locker, depositing his books, and grabbing his keys. His palms are sweaty, even though he’s on schedule so far today. 

It’s a quiet ride to Dalton. 

He’s wearing the lucky green polo he’d picked out earlier that morning, and he’d been, in fact, lucky. He’d easily scored a pass to leave McKinley’s campus to “take care of some glee club business.” It’s an excuse, he supposes, that isn’t any different from yesterday’s. But he’s had to make _this_ trip in record time, since later this afternoon he’s got to fit in a rehearsal for the number he and the guys have planned to cheer up Tina. (They did, in the end, like his idea, or at the least were willing to go along with it once he’d corralled them in the choir room earlier.) Besides, Sam could use some cheering up too, even if he seems to be taking his breakup with Brittany so well. He imagines Sam will have a laugh over the way Blaine plans to style his hair—which is fine. Blaine’s too excited to pull off McCartney at McKinley to care. 

Blaine’s phone chirps at him once, twice, three times, as he approaches the gated entrance. As soon as he finds a place to park, he reads the texts from Kurt: _Just had coffee with Mercedes—happy she's still in town_ and _My flight is in a couple of days :(_ and _Can’t wait to see you tonight_. 

Smiling as he types, Blaine answers, **_Don’t worry. You’ll see *plenty* of me._**

_o__O_   followed by _!!!_ are all he gets in return, but as soon as Blaine remembers where he _is_ currently, and why, his heart clenches. If everything goes to plan this morning, then the rest of his afternoon—and probably his evening—are going to be very, very busy. How will he explain that to Kurt? 

For now, he simply types **_:^*_** then exits the car.

 

The Dalton halls are quiet as Blaine approaches the headmaster’s suite. It’s weird, he thinks, how he and Sam had run through the place just yesterday, giddy and joyful as they rode a never-ending wave of good feeling and camaraderie. When it was all over, Blaine couldn’t believe all the help he’d enlisted for his cause. Now, hopefully, he’ll enlist one more person.

Gathering himself, Blaine takes a breath, then pushes open the door. He’s escorted to a waiting area by the assistant, so he sits, hands placed carefully on his lap, trying hard to simply keep _still_. He wants to fidget. He keeps checking the clock as he waits, but soon he’s distracted by the sound of classes getting out and students walking the halls just outside the suite entrance. He can’t help but try to eavesdrop, straining his ears for the sound of familiar voices. Most of the boys he really knew from his Dalton days are gone, but he listens anyway, and swears he can make out Trent’s voice drifting past, and Sebastian’s replying to it.

Sebastian.

It’s funny, Blaine thinks, how enthusiastic Sebastian had been yesterday. How eager. After the vote, he’d pulled Blaine aside and made sure to update their phones. Sitting there in the waiting area, Blaine wonders whether Sebastian has really changed. Is he just more himself? His _true_ self, once you peeled away the layers? He smiles and shakes his head as he thinks, _maybe he finally found love._ And Blaine would know the effect of that—how finding the person you’re meant to be with, forever, could change you.

How it changes everything.

His phone vibrates as he sinks back into the chair, and he looks down at the screen to see a text from Cooper that reads, _I may have an announcement tonight._

**_Why not right now?_ ** Blaine quickly types back. 

_I’m heightening the suspense._

**_You don’t have to do that. I’m not one of your Twitter fans you know._ **

_You mean you're not a Cooperstan?!_

**_…_ **

**_A what?_ **

_I have quite a following._

**_You don't say._ **

_I should come back to your school and give a talk on social media. On the Twittersphere._

**_I'm kinda busy here. Just tell me your news?_ **

_See how well it’s working already?_

_The SUSPENSE._

**_Cooper!!_ **

There’s no reply from his older brother after that. Which figures. Blaine’s about to ask him for at least one legitimate clue, but the headmaster is apparently ready to see him. 

When Blaine enters the office, he takes a seat across from a person he now _needs_ something from, and it strikes him that this person had utterly failed him not so long ago. This person did nothing, after all, in the wake of his eye injury. The other man motions for Blaine to speak, and he does—he asks the question he came here to ask—but his request is met with an astonished, _are-you-kidding-me_ look that he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before on the older man’s face. 

The thing is, Blaine’s not leaving. 

“I’m appealing to your sense of romance, Sir . . .” he begins again, his fingers gripping the chair’s armrests.

The headmaster removes his eyeglasses, folding them neatly before placing them on the desk. “Mister Anderson,” he says, “In the two years you were a student here—well, less than two years, wasn’t it?—we knew you made friends, and we were pleased the school was able to support you. But this idea of yours, of closing off a part of the school so you can have a private party, it’s just _unheard_ of, do you understand? And Dalton is a place of . . .”

Suddenly there’s loud knock on the door, and Blaine and the headmaster turn to find none other than Sebastian Smythe peeking in. 

Blaine’s unsure whether this is a good or bad thing. 

He tries his best to give Sebastian a look of warning, but the other boy just smiles at him (almost dopily, Blaine thinks).

“If I may, Sir?” says Sebastian, who simply walks right in, closing the door behind him.

“Mr. Smythe,” says the headmaster, rather cooly. His tone makes Blaine wonder what kind of student Sebastian even is— _really_ is. Or what that person looks like to the faculty and administrators here. 

“I’ll be brief, Sir,” he says. “I know why Blaine’s here, and as a member of the Warblers,” he adds, placing a hand on his heart, “we’ve already pledged to help him. You may recall, Sir, that Blaine Anderson probably saved us from an even greater catastrophe regarding, er, Hunter Clarington, and his role on the team?” 

“I’m perfectly aware of the ‘help’ Mister Anderson provided regarding that _scandal_ , thank you very much, Mr. Smythe.” The headmaster levels a look at Blaine that’s downright unfriendly. 

Blaine shifts in his seat, wondering what Sebastian is up to. What greater catastrophe? Blaine only recalls "helping" the Warblers get disqualified—the story had been all over the local news. It had certainly tarnished the Dalton image. And yet, Blaine thinks, making eye contact with Sebastian, who seems to be signaling for him to speak up . . .

"Imagine, Sir," Blaine pipes up, finally getting it, "what would have happened if the Warblers were now busy preparing for _Nationals_ , and were still, well,  _you_ know." 

The headmaster levels a long glance at Blaine. "Humph" is his only response. 

Sebastian clears his throat and adds, “It would have been a public relations _nightmare,_ Sir. My father—”

"Don't bring your father into this, young man," says the headmaster, pointing. 

"Well then," says Sebastian, who clears his throat, looking squarely at Blaine. “Then it will behoove you to remember that Blaine was assaulted by fellow Dalton students, and that even though the incident took place off campus, it reflected poorly on the school.” 

In a flash Blaine remembers the quick-change from freezing to burning, the feeling of wanting to leap out of his body if he could so as to escape the pain. He reaches to gently touch his face, the memory of it flickering in his mind like a ghost, and looks back up to see the headmaster appraising Sebastian. The man leans forward in his seat, and smirks, “Well _you_ of all people know the way that reflected on this institution, Mr. Smythe.”

Blaine clasps his hands together in his lap, brow furrowed. He thinks he gets what Sebastian is trying to do, but the approach isn't quite Blaine's style. Laying it on the line is. So he says, "Sir, all I want to do, all I've _ever_ wanted to do, is tell the man I want to marry that I love him, that I want to spend the rest of my life loving him. And this place," he adds, gesturing, " _this_ is where we met. He came here because he knew he would be safe, just like  _I_ knew I'd be safe." The heaviness in the room suddenly gives way, and Blaine's buoyant as he continues, "This moment that I want to share—with _everyone—_ is a celebration. It's a celebration of all the _good_ memories I have of this place, that Kurt and I _both_ have of this place."  

The cynicism is long gone from the headmaster's gaze, which remains fixed on Blaine as Sebastian adds, "This is a student who’s done much for the school, and frankly, you allowing two boys to get engaged on these grounds? You couldn’t ask for a better way to bolster the Dalton image.”

Happily, the meeting is over pretty quickly after that.

 

When Blaine exists the administrative offices (there are some details to go over, once the headmaster agrees to the plan), he finds Sebastian waiting, leaning against the mural-lined wall, hands in his pockets, one foot crossing the other. “Thanks, Sebastian,” Blaine offers. “I really appreciate it. You know that, right?”

The other boy nods. “I’m happy for you, believe it or not. Your idea is completely ridiculous, but I’m happy for you. So—are you going to show me the dance steps you mentioned yesterday after, you know, taking over the school like you and Blonde Ambition did? There aren’t a lot of the guys left from when you were here as a student, and as much as they still probably wet their shorts at night dreaming about you . . .”

“ _Sebastian,”_ Blaine admonishes. Then adds, grinning like an idiot at his own cleverness, “That’s just _you.”_

Sebastian laughs. “Touché,” he says.

As they walk the halls, Sebastian makes eye contact with many of the students, who nod back with respect. They walk in silence, right out of the school, until both boys find themselves in the parking lot. 

Pausing briefly to check his watch, Blaine turns and reminds the Warbler, “After school, okay?”

“We’ll be ready, Blaine.”

Blaine lingers, even though the weight of all he has to do tugs him toward his car. Still, he asks the question he's been wondering about since yesterday. “Why are you so willing to help me? Or _us?”_

Sebastian shrugs, his hands still in his pockets. “Does that surprise you?” 

“A little,” Blaine admits.  

“Don’t you remember? _Once a Warbler, always a Warbler.”_

Blaine studies the other boy’s eyes. The glint he used to find there, the one that used to make him so flustered, is gone. “I know, but—“

“There’s no but, Blaine. Well, there’s a lot of _butt_ where you’re concerned . . .” Sebastian adds, directing his eyes and shifting a little to get a better view. 

That earns an eyeroll. _“Sebastian.”_

“See you later, Killer.”

Blaine can’t help but laugh at that. And feel lucky, again.

Until he remembers: _Tina_.

Blaine gets back to McKinley with a few minutes to spare for practicing left-handed bass, just before the guys gather on stage to rehearse. 

It’s going to be perfect.


	2. The Subjunctive Mood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picks up where "Secret Keeper" left off, the morning after "Help!" Basically, Blaine has a lot to do.

“And why are you not able to spend time with your boyfriend on a weekday after school, _Blaine?”_ Kurt asks, bemusedly, by phone after Blaine’s and the rest of the guys’ rehearsal. They’d never played music together before _and_ sung, and Blaine’s guitar-playing is rusty, left-handedness aside. “You know I have to leave in two days, don’t you?” 

Sam, Jake and Ryder talk and laugh on stage, doing their best to mimic the Beatles’ body language; that soon devolves into the three of them butchering British accents, cackling with laughter. Blaine presses the phone to his ear. “I do! I _know_ , I just really need to study for this exam, and then we can meet right _after_ that!” He tries to focus on anything but the guilty knot forming in the pit of his stomach. He _does_ have an exam, he _will_ study, it’s not exactly a lie—and he knows Kurt will appreciate the details Blaine’s attending to. Provided Kurt doesn’t get impatient with him first. 

“You’re a senior and practically done with school, Blaine. You can blow it off,” Kurt says, laughing. 

Blaine smiles. “I seem to recall one occasion where _someone_ didn’t want to blow off glee club practice, and if I recall correctly, his boyfriend was pretty clearly—and freely—offering himself to him.”

“Mmm,” says Kurt fondly. “Well, I guess we’ll have to get used to schedule conflicts, won’t we? You and I will both be busy with classes and extra-curriculars and work—I mean, Rachel and I barely see each other at NYADA some days, and if she gets Fanny Brice it’s going to be actually insane around here.” After a pause he adds, “But honestly, it will just be so great to be able to see you everyday. For good. For _real_.”

“Yeah,” agrees Blaine, still wondering about Kurt’s first comment for a moment, at what anything is going to look like on the other side of graduation, for him. He doesn’t tell Kurt about the status of his NYADA application, that he hasn’t heard anything yet. He pushes any college thoughts aside as quickly as they come, because time is running out. And there’s choreography with Sebastian and a stop at the mall and checking in with Sam and Tina . . . He sighs. “Thanks, Kurt, for understanding,” he says to end the call. “I’ll guess I’ll see you later tonight!”

And then, he remembers to breathe.

 

Soon after he’s in the backseat of Sam’s car, with Sam at the wheel and Tina sitting passenger-side, his two best friends deep in conversation, reviewing the agenda for the proposal pre-rehearsal they’re on their way to. For just a moment Blaine feels kind of silly, like he’s being chauffeured, like he’s being transported in a _litter_ similar to those he read about in history class, his friends balancing the weight of the poles on their shoulders as they make their way through town. Definitely silly, he thinks, but at the same time he’s acutely aware that his friends make him feel good about himself. Maybe, sometimes, he does feel like a king. 

The session itself goes smoothly with the help of Sam and Tina. Sam keeps the mood around Vocal Adrenaline light with his impressions, while Tina whips the Haverbrook kids back to focus when they need it, an interpreter signing furiously beside her, leaving Blaine to work with the Warblers’ choreography—at least enough so that Sebastian can take over the lead. It’s pretty remarkable, really, how easily it comes together, once all the teams are there. And seeing his own glee club in the mural-lined hallway practicing together, here at Dalton, makes his heart swell. Even if they don’t all agree with what he’s doing, he feels their _support,_ so much so that he’s soon blinking tears away.

By dinnertime Blaine, Sam and Tina are back in the car, and as is often the case, the beep from Blaine’s phone alerts him to his mother’s text, the words _Running late!_ almost expected with the way his parents have been so busy lately. But he’s busy too, and planning to spend time with Kurt later anyway. He does want to talk to them, though, especially about what he’s orchestrating at Dalton. He will talk to them. He plans to.

He just needs something to _wear_ first.  

 _Just a quick stop at the mall_ , Blaine thinks, looking out the back seat window, and he imagines the happiness he’s going to feel at crossing off _Something to Wear_ in his planner.

Some three hours later, Blaine’s frustration is written all over the pile of discarded suits and slacks, cardigans and ties. Sam and Tina prove less helpful here—in fact there’s quite a bit more arguing as Blaine walks in and out of dressing rooms. Sam is enthusiastic about everything Blaine tries on, while Tina tugs at every jacket, not satisfied with the fit. Knowing that he’s got to finish this soon or risk missing a date with Kurt just adds to the stress. 

The trouble is, Blaine had thought picking out a proposal outfit would be easy. Unlike prom, Blaine doesn’t have to worry about coordinating with Kurt, and there are no flowers involved, at least not any they’ll actually _wear_. 

Once he had begun really searching _,_ though, Blaine had found himself quickly overwhelmed. Just what does one _wear_ for an event like this? What kind of outfit would be special, but not _too_ formal next to Kurt, who would be on his way to the airport that morning? What kind of outfit would be romantic or symbolic enough for all that Blaine wants to _say?_

“Dude,” says Sam, finally acknowledging that they’ve made no progress. “It’s way past dinner. Let’s eat. It’ll clear your head.”

“No, Sam,” says Blaine. “We’ve _really_ got to get this done—”

Tina sighs. “Sam’s right. We’re _all_ starving. Come on,” she says, grabbing Blaine by the hand. “Food. Now.”

Soon they’re all munching on egg rolls and fried rice, and Blaine has to admit he does feel better. “Have you heard anything from the art school you applied to?” he asks Sam encouragingly, partly to get his mind off clothing.

Sam slurps his Coke, which gets a raised eyebrow from Blaine. “No, not yet,” he says softly. “You two?” he asks, glancing first at Blaine, then Tina.

“No,” Tina and Blaine both admit, but then Tina quickly adds, “Well, except for my safety school.” Blaine notices her lack of enthusiasm about it.

Tina rests her chin on one hand. “It’s going to be hard not seeing you guys all the time.” 

“But we’ll still be together,” says Blaine. “No matter where we end up. Right?” He looks at his friends, who seem pretty lacking in conviction.

“It will be different, though,” says Tina. “Besides,” she adds, “you’re getting married.”

“So what?” asks Blaine. “Assuming Kurt says _yes.”_

“Oh _please,_ ” says Tina. “Like he’ll refuse you.” 

“He has before,” Blaine replies quietly. He keeps scraping rice across his food tray, gathering it up, but he’s stopped eating.

“Dude,” says Sam, grasping Blaine’s shoulder and shaking it a little. “Tina’s just saying it will be different— _we’ll_ be partying and dating people and stuff, and you guys will be like, worrying about whose turn it is to do the laundry, and fighting over who gets more closet space, and working extra jobs to pay for all your clothes . . .”

 _“What?”_ says Blaine, confused. “Why couldn’t Kurt and I go to the party too?” 

“Well, you could, but then who would babysit your kids?”

“ _What_ kids, Sam?” Blaine asks, trying not to appear ruffled, because . . . _kids._ He likes kids, he’s thought fleetingly about teaching them, and someday, far into the future, actually having children of his own. Just not _immediately_ or anything.

Suddenly Tina’s looking right at him, completely serious and still, clutching her fork. “I would carry your child,” she says slowly. “You know that, right? Blainey Days?” 

“I don’t—” starts Blaine. _I just need a suit,_ he thinks, trying to focus.

“Would you carry mine, too?” asks Sam, eyebrows wiggling.

Tina flicks a pea at Sam’s face. 

 _“Guys,”_ says Blaine. “It’s not like Kurt and I are going to get married right away. At least I don’t think . . .”

“But what if Kurt’s like, ‘Dude, let’s go to Vegas!’”

Blaine sighs. “For one, Sam, I doubt Kurt would say that, and two, Nevada allows civil unions but not marriage.” He rubs his temples with his hand. “Honestly? I think we’d both enjoy just being _engaged_ for a while.” Because that’s what people getting married get to _do. What’s the rush?_ he thinks. Besides, right now there are too many unknowns: the status of his college applications, and what states will be next to allow marriage equality. It’s _marriage_ that he wants—with Kurt. That’s all he _does_ know.

Which brings him back to the task at hand. “Guys,” he says, his voice pitched a little higher than usual. “ _Please._ Just help me get this done?” A quick glance at Tina and Sam tells Blaine that they really hear him, and without another word they clear the table and walk briskly toward the next store.

It’s with a certain kind of desperation that Blaine finally spots it, and he grabs it off the rack partly because it cheers him up so much—in fact it reminds him of the other day, of flowers and sunshine and laughter, of singing in the courtyard and Kurt surprising _him,_ and he suddenly feels lighter, like he’s accomplished something. 

“That’s—really _bright,”_ says Sam, as Blaine walks out of the Nordstrom’s dressing room in a head-to-toe gold suit. Sam looks hesitant for a second, as he stands appraising Blaine, his weight shifting from one leg to the other. Then something shifts in his gaze, like he’s decided something, and he adds, “Dude, it’s perfect—you’re like _Wolverine._ If, you know, Wolverine was into fancy suits.”

Blaine laughs, then turns to Tina. “What do you think of this one?” he asks, exhausted from trying on so many suits. He’s waiting for her response, but he doesn’t need it. He already knows this is it. Maybe it had been the feel of the flannel, sort of warm and comforting, or the color that simply made him smile the second he noticed it. It felt special, and that was enough.

Tina nods, smiling and says, “I can tell your mind’s already made up, Boo. It’s perfect. Now buy it so we can all go home?”

He looks down at his watch. Heart sinking at seeing the time, he buys the suit that in two days will make or break him.

 

It’s late when Blaine gets home. Dinner’s on the counter, and his parents are already in bed. The mall trip had taken longer than expected, and there’s just no going out to spend time with Kurt tonight. Blaine shuffles upstairs, hangs the suit in the back of his closet, changes into his pajamas, and flops atop the bed. He’s beat. 

He’s got one more day to pull it all together. 

Reaching for the pillow, he pulls it over his head, hoping it might help quiet his racing mind, which is reviewing what clothes he needs to bring to school tomorrow for Tina’s cheer-up number, or what parts of Kurt’s proposal the groups will need to focus on at the final Dalton rehearsal. 

As his body starts to quiet itself Blaine’s mind lingers on Kurt. He’s hardly had time to process that just two days ago, they became _boyfriends_ again. In his drowsy state images flutter in sparks of color and heat: trumpets in the courtyard, white feather plumes, Kurt’s spring camouflage. The way they’d twirled on tabletops made of wire mesh, dancing and kissing practically on air. And later, in Blaine’s room, back on solid ground, the way their hands grasped quickly for each other as they sought release after time apart. No trumpets, just a slam of Blaine’s door as they’d entered the room. No dancing on air, just a thud as they’d fallen to the floor in a tangle of discarded jeans and briefs. Blaine smiles into his pillow at how they’d laughed riotously afterwards, as Kurt had joked their courtyard song was much, _much_ longer than their lovemaking, while Blaine giggled at their lying on the floor in nothing but their shirts. 

The phone chirping shocks Blaine awake. He’d meant to call Kurt, but must have nodded off instead. He tosses the pillow he’d been sleeping under and lurches for his phone. 

“You’re not coming over, are you?” says Kurt, stifling a yawn. “What happened?”

Blaine’s heart is racing madly as he explains, “Remember that number I told you about, the one we’re doing for Tina? It’s tomorrow, and we had to rehearse, and then I sort of ended up at the mall with Sam and Tina and—”

“It’s fine, Blaine, really. We’ll figure something out before I have to leave, okay? I would like to spend a least a little time with my boyfriend, you know.”

“I know,” Blaine starts. “I just don’t want you to think . . .”

“That you’re too busy for me?” Kurt supplies. Blaine listens very carefully, but there’s no edge to his boyfriend’s voice.

“No, no, not at all, I just. I want things to be perfect again, and I—”

“Ok, but, _Blaine_. Maybe let’s not think about us that way anymore? I mean, trying to make everything perfect—or assuming everything _was_ —didn’t really get us anywhere last time, right?”

“I know,” says Blaine quietly. He’s sitting cross-legged now on the bed, running his finger along the system of creases formed by his crumpled bed linens.

“It’s really okay. Blaine? Let’s plan on tomorrow. It’s the last night we’ll have for a while.”

“I really love you,” Blaine says. 

“And I really love you back. Now go to bed,” Kurt says. “Make some room for me in your busy schedule,” he adds, and Blaine can hear the smile. He places his phone on his nightstand and digs through his bag for his planner. He’ll at least review the to do list for the morning. Maybe there _is_ something he can cut out, or something he can delegate, just to make sure he gets to spend time with Kurt tomorrow night.

His phone chimes an interruption, and Blaine realizes he’s forgotten about Cooper. Wasn’t there something he wanted before, back when he was sitting in the headmaster’s office at Dalton? He reaches for the phone.

_Squirt!_

**_It’s 1 in the morning, Cooper._ **

_Oops :p_

_Wait._

_Why are YOU up?_

_..._

_Blaine? You schedule everything. What could possibly be going on that makes you miss your bedtime?_

_Unless . . . is Kurt over there?_

**_STOP._ **

**...**

**_Look, I’m planning something, and it’s complicated._ **

_Your plans? Complicated? NEVER._

**_Funny >:(  Let me finish this so I can go to bed, okay?_ **

...

_If by “finish this” you mean whatever you’re doing with Kurt . . ._

**_STOP. RIGHT. THERE._ **

_Not until you tell me what you’re planning._

**_Why did you even text, Coop?_ **

_Huh?_

**_It’s late. What do you want?_ **

_I did a thing._

**_And?_ **

_A Big Thing, Blaine._

**_Well? Tell me!_ **

_No._

**_Why not?_ **

**...**

**_Oh. You really won’t tell me until I tell you, is that what this is?_ **

_If only you could see me pointing at you._

**...**

**_Ok, but you can’t tell Mom or Dad._ **

_Dramatic. I like it._

**_Do you swear?_**

**_I mean it, Coop._ **

The phone actually rings this time, and Blaine rests his head back on his pillow as he takes the call. “Do you swear?” he asks his brother without preamble. 

Suddenly Cooper sounds actually serious. “I do,” he says. 

“Okay,” says Blaine, but the words don’t come. Why is he hesitating? “Well, I just—” 

 _“Go on,”_ prods his brother.

“I’m going to . . . ask Kurt to marry me.” The silence that follows stretches out longer than is comfortable. “Coop?”

“You’re doing what now?” 

Blaine sighs. “I should’ve made you swear not to judge me, either.” 

“I’m not judging,” says Cooper.

“I can hear you!” says Blaine. “I can hear the way you’re staring at me!”

“Wow. You’re _good,”_ is his brother’s response. “And I’m assuming Mom and Dad don’t know about this plan of yours yet?”

“In my defense, they’ve been busy,” Blaine says, but he knows that he could’ve told them by now. He _should’ve_ told them by now. But then he adds, “Maybe I just don’t want to hear their objections.”

“Why would they object?” asks Cooper. “You know, aside from the fact that you’re still in high school.”

 _“Thanks,”_ says Blaine, sarcastically. “You’re making me feel _so_ much better already.”

“Good,” says Cooper, with no trace of irony, which somehow doesn’t surprise Blaine at all. “Now let me tell you _my_ announcement. You are currently speaking to the new face of Aflac Insurance. Just signed tonight! The Twittersphere is _exploding,_ Squirt!”

“Wait. Seriously, Coop? That’s actually a huge company. That’s— _wow!”_ enthuses Blaine, who can’t stay angry with his brother after that. “But what about the duck?”

“The duck?”

“Yeah, you know. The duck that quacks, _‘Aflac! Aflac!’_ in all the commercials? You’re the new duck?”

“Hmm,” mutters his brother, seemingly to himself. “They didn’t say anything about a co-star . . .”

“You should ask about the duck,” offers Blaine. “And I really do have to go now. Thanks, you know, for listening to me,” he says to Cooper, but he can tell his brother’s on his laptop already, that the wheels are turning, if the quacking he hears faintly in the background is any indication.

Looks like both Anderson brothers have things to do yet tonight. 

He clicks his pen.

 

The next morning, Blaine awakens in a panic with the realization that he’s completely forgotten to call Mr. Hummel. 

 _You know,_ he thinks, rubbing his eyes at daybreak, _the person who you need to bring Kurt to this huge thing you’re planning, the person who will think what you’re planning is a bad idea, or who—worse—won’t even_ tell _you it’s a bad idea?_

He goes to see Mr. Hummel at the shop before school. It will make him late, but honestly, he doesn’t care. As he walks inside the scent of motor oil hits him, and he watches as one of the mechanics raises a car up onto the lift to expose the chassis. Dusting his jacket off with his hands, it occurs to Blaine that all of his proposal planning is making him literally walk through his past. The clink of metal on metal reminds him, in fact, of another time he walked into the shop to talk to Mr. Hummel, and how, despite having what he’d thought were good intentions, he’d crossed a line with Kurt’s dad that day. He’d done what he thought was best, just as he’s doing right now, he figures.

Mr. Hummel walks out of the shop’s office and spots Blaine. He nods in Blaine’s direction and smiles. 

“Hi, Mr. Hummel.” Blaine starts to wave, then feels foolish as he puts his hand into his pocket. Why’s he so nervous?

“Anderson,” Kurt’s dad says, pointing at him, before pointing back at himself and adding, _“Burt,”_ which gets a chuckle out of Blaine. 

Heard you and Kurt were back together,” continues Kurt’s dad. “He’s happy; I’m happy.”

“I am, too. You have no idea.” Blaine’s free hand wanders absentmindedly over a tray of car parts. Once he realizes, he pulls his hand away, rubbing the fingers together to get off the grime. 

“I think I might,” Mr. Hummel laughs, handing over a cloth for Blaine’s hands. Then he pauses for a long while, and Blaine feels like he’s being studied. 

Blaine doesn’t break eye contact for a second.

“You’re gonna ask him, aren’t you?” asks Mr. Hummel, finally.

“I was kind of hoping,” Blaine replies, letting out a breath he’d been holding while under scrutiny, “that you’d be willing to help get Kurt to a special thing I’m planning? But yeah. I’m definitely asking.”

Mr. Hummel nods again and grows quiet. “It’s funny,” he muses, eyebrows raised. “Feels like every time you meet me here, that you’re pulling my son away from me.”

Blaine’s heart sinks at that, but Kurt’s dad is quick to grasp Blaine’s shoulder and add, “It’s not a complaint, son. I’m just a parent watching my kid grow up, that’s all. It all happens so fast,” he explains. “You’ll see someday when you have kids of your own.”

All Blaine can do is nod. 

“Okay,” Mr. Hummel says. “So, what do your parents think about all this, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Um—” Blaine can’t hide his surprise at the question.

Mr. Hummel glances at Blaine more curiously now. “You haven’t told them what you’re planning?”

“I—”

“Look, son. I don’t mean to pry. I’m sure you have your reasons. They’d probably like to _know_ at some point that their son is making a huge decision, don’t you think?” 

“Of course,” Blaine says. “I’ve been meaning to tell them. Honestly.” 

Mr. Hummel looks like he’s studying Blaine again before he finally smiles and says, “Kurt’s flight leaves tomorrow, and I’m assuming you know that. I can come up with some accounting for why we need to leave so early for the airport. Is that kind of what you’re thinking?”

“Yes, sir. And I do mean to tell my parents. It’s not like I don’t tell them things, really.” He glances away from Mr. Hummel for a moment, back at the car suspended in the air. “I just know what I want to do, what I _need_ to do, and I’ll accept whatever answer Kurt gives, I just—”

“It’s okay, kid. Like I said, I don’t mean to pry.”

“I know,” says Blaine. “And thanks—for everything.”

Mr. Hummel pulls him into a hug, then, and Blaine stays there for a moment, letting the whir and clatter of machinery build the momentum inside him to finally finish what he’s set out to do. 

 

The day is a bit of a blur after that. Tina loves the song. And getting to pick a prom date. Then it’s off to the rehearsal, which is short. They quickly run through the number, because there are so many people involved and all of them have busy lives, and Blaine is thankful again for the help he gets from Sam, Tina, and Sebastian. Besides, he wants time with Kurt—they won’t be together again for a while after tonight. Unless he lands a NYADA audition. Afterwards, it’s home to press the suit and lay out his clothes before dinner.

With his parents.

Where he plans to tell them everything.

Except it doesn’t happen. His parents come home in a flurry, and they’ve invited a couple for dinner—old friends they ran into at the grocery the other day, who they haven’t seen in years. Blaine’s mother gives her son a hug and kiss and asks about his day, but the moment isn’t right, and all he can do is talk about “I Saw Her Standing There,” and Tina, and then both his parents are reminiscing about the Beatles, and once again there’s no time.

And then there’s talk about Cooper, and the duck who is, in fact, the co-star, and Blaine has to explain to his parents about what it means to film with CGI, which Cooper apparently can’t stop talking about, and his father keeps watching an Aflac commercial on the phone while muttering, “I thought that duck was real,” while Blaine keeps telling him, “Well, it is and it isn’t.”

Blaine’s pretty sure he hates that duck.

 

At Kurt’s that night, Blaine’s full of energy. “Tell me about New York,” he says. It’s funny, how thinking about it has started to occupy more space in his mind, enough so that he can understand Kurt more from back when he was a senior, back when he’d accused his boyfriend of obsessing over it. Now Blaine is obsessing, too.

“What else haven’t I told you already? Or haven’t you seen—you’ve been there, you know.” They’re lying together on Kurt’s bed, side by side, Blaine looking up at the ceiling, Kurt on his side, where he’s carding his fingers through Blaine’s hair. 

“Yeah, but—” starts Blaine. He turns to look at Kurt and adds, “I don’t live there, not yet. Tell me something I don’t know already?”

“Okay,” Kurt says, hands still in Blaine’s hair. “Well, let’s see. No surprise that Rachel sings in the shower, but so does Santana. Um, we have three favorite pizza places that deliver, and typically our mid-week grocery shopping is all about restocking our ice cream supply, and sometimes I sneak into the auditorium Carmen uses for her classes so I can belt out a few tunes. Are we done talking now?” Kurt asks before he pulls Blaine toward him for a kiss.

Kurt doesn’t pull as much as Blaine scoots forward to meet him.

Even so, they have a hard time simply _relaxing._ Kurt seems nervous, and Blaine already is tense, so their kissing is unfocused and clumsy, and their noses bump more often than usual. It’s so difficult for Blaine to push his thoughts aside, his lists of things to be done, and focus on the task at hand. _Task?_ he finds himself thinking guiltily. 

“Blaine?” asks Kurt suddenly. “Can you quiet down a little?”

“Huh?”

“Whatever you’re thinking about. It’s . . . loud.” Kurt pushes Blaine away from him and cradles his face for a moment to study him before turning him face down onto the bed. “Here, let me help. That, uh, test you were studying for must really be bothering you.” Blaine lets Kurt knead his shoulders and back, and it’s exactly what he needs with all the stress he’s been under this week. He relaxes into it. He lets himself drift under the warmth of Kurt’s hands, and everything is suddenly simple again.

Kurt knows him.

Blaine turns so he’s lying on his back again. He looks up at Kurt, everything else forgotten now, knowing that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for this man, not one thing, and then they’re both in this moment, together, just like they used to be _before,_ and their hands know each others’ bodies again, the shape and curve and scent of skin, and it’s the same and altogether different, and it feels like the future. 


	3. Two Bird Suits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all leads up to this.

Blaine and Sam are on their way to Dalton, and it’s almost as if Blaine is a student there again, he’s been back here so many times this week. As he grips the steering wheel he wonders if this time will be the very last. Even if he and Kurt had begun their lives together here, maybe it’s time for them, finally, to leave this place behind. He’s ready. _Everything_ is ready, and now it’s just a matter of putting on the gold suit that’s lying across the backseat of the car—the one he’d bought with both Tina and Sam at his side, the one that probably raised their eyebrows the most. Although, come to think of it, maybe what they’d raised their eyebrows over was the price tag.

It’s been a pretty expensive week.

The thought of his parents seeing the credit card bill for this month causes his muscles to tense, and keeping his eyes on the road ahead, he reaches for the back of his neck. He kneads the skin there, partly to remind himself that he’s _here,_ now, and not just in his head where the disappointed gazes of his parents sometimes loom.

He looks over at his best friend, to whom he’s been able to tell everything, never doubting whether or not he’ll be supported. “Thanks for trying so hard, Sam, through all of this,” he says. “It means the world to me.” 

Sam doesn’t meet Blaine’s gaze, but he’s smiling. “Well, I don’t totally get it, but you know I’m here for you, bro.”

Blaine shakes his head and laughs. “I would think _you_ of all people would get it, Sam. You proposed to Brittany when you thought the world was ending! And didn’t you propose to Quinn, too?”

Sam shrugs. “I guess, but Quinn’s was just a promise ring, not a marriage proposal, and with Brittany, you know, we were _sure_ it was all over. Like, the _world_ was ending, dude, don’t you remember?” He pauses before adding quietly, “Plus she loved me back.” 

They’re silent for a while as they near Dalton, the tree tops arching over the street, young leaves cascading over the car as it makes its way down the path. “I dunno,” says Sam suddenly. “With Quinn I remember telling her I was promising to be _true_. That I . . . that I wanted her to be _proud_ of me. Maybe with Brit it was more about not wanting to be alone. You know,” he says, more dramatically now, “since we were all gonna _die_.”

Blaine side-eyes him. “Was that an impression?” he asks.

“No. But I’ve got one for you. He starts singing in his best Robin Williams’ voice, “ _I like New York in June—how about yoooouu?”_

Blaine shrugs, then sings, tentatively, not trying at all to copy Amanda Plummer, _“I like a Gershwin tune—how about yooouuu?”_

“No, I’m serious,” says Sam. Then Blaine listens as Sam puts the question to words—the question no one’s really asked yet. “So . . . what about you?” he prods gently. “Why are you doing all of this? Is it, you know, for a Quinn or a Brittany reason?”

At first Blaine just laughs at the options, but then he grows quiet and really thinks about it. “I—”

“You’re not just looking for some kind of . . . _security_ , right?” Sam offers.

“What? No. _No,_ Sam. Not at all,” Blaine says, as the Dalton gates finally come into view. “Maybe last year,” he posits, shrugging. “Before you and I were friends . . . and Tina, and well, _everyone_ —I think maybe I needed that.” He steers the car past the gates and toward the parking lot. All he can see is vivid blue through the windshield. It is a _glorious_ day. Blaine parks the car, then turns fully toward Sam.   

His friend speaks first. “I think maybe with Quinn,” he says, “that I was just afraid things would end quickly . . . ”

“So what are you saying— _you_ were looking for some kind of security? But why?” 

Sam brushes his hair (so _long_ now, Blaine notices) behind his ear. “Isn’t that kind of the whole point?”

Blaine reaches for Sam’s hand now, just to give it a quick squeeze. “No—of _course_ not, Sam. _I_ think proposing is about putting yourself out there and taking that risk, and being able to show the entire world that there isn’t anything else that matters more than the person you love, not really, and it’s all part of a great adventure and—” 

Sam laughs to cut him off. “You’re such a goober,” he says, before stepping out of the car and opening the back seat door. He grasps the hanger holding Blaine’s suit and pulls it out unceremoniously. “Let’s get you into your canary suit so we can start the show.” Sam holds the suit up by its hanger with one hand and punches the air with the other. “My best friend’s getting engaged today!” he shouts.

_“Sam!”_ chides Blaine. “What if Kurt were to show up just now?” He walks over to his friend and yanks the suit away, before looking up and saying rather cleverly, he thinks, “And for your information, canaries aren’t the only yellow birds in the world. _Warblers_ are yellow, too, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You think of _everything,”_ Sam jokes.

 

The campus is quiet for a while as Sam and Blaine walk the halls and wait for the others to arrive. They change—Blaine into his suit, and Sam into his letterman jacket—then Sam busies himself with carrying in more McKinley jackets (on loan from Coach Beiste) for the rest of the current New Directions members to put on. He piles them on a chair in the mural-lined hallway. 

Tina arrives to set up the rose petals, but the second she sees Blaine, she drops the box that she’s carrying and throws her arms around him. “So happy for you,” she says, smiling, and Blaine breathes in the faint smell of coconut and lime as he presses his face into her hair.

“We should probably wait and see what he says first,” replies Blaine, but Tina just rolls her eyes and gets back to work.

Tina’s sentiment is pretty much repeated by everyone, from last year’s graduates to Mr. Schue. Little by little, the people he’s surrounded himself with for years—Warblers, competitors, friends—arrive. He laughs as the image of George Bailey pops into his head, a slicked-back Jimmy Stewart standing near the Christmas tree, mouth agape, as every town member arrives to drop a dollar or two—whatever they can afford—on the table, just before everyone in the room bursts into song. Friends can make all the difference in the world.

Blaine walks outside to see some of the Warblers lined up along the second-story rail and tries not to dwell too much on the fact that everyone assumes Kurt will say yes. Not that Blaine’s terrified—he’s nervous, maybe, but he knows that even if Kurt says “No,” they are still _together_. He isn’t going to lose him. 

But a “No” would make a heck of an awkward day, considering the hundred or so people watching. 

Blaine gulps.

There’s a quiet chaos that takes over the place as groups of people review their parts, and Blaine’s nerves are finally starting to kick in. He stands alone near the entry of the building, waiting, the only thing giving him solace being the murmur of voices, of people _working,_ and he’s forever grateful that he gave in to Sebastian on the choreography, that all he has to do is remember what he’s going to say to Kurt, which is maybe what he’s _always_ wanted to say to Kurt. 

When Mercedes yells, “He’s here!” Blaine’s heart practically leaps right out of his rib cage, and then he’s stepping just outside the door to meet his fate. He tries to simply _breathe,_ but the scent of fresh grass hits him, and suddenly Kurt is there in a magnificent, teal textured suit, decked out as Spring itself—or maybe as a peacock, judging from lovely pattern that adorns the jacket. When Kurt takes the last step toward Blaine, trumpets blaring there on the landing, it feels to Blaine as if time stops altogether.  

He opens his mouth, and lets the notes fly.

There’s a flurry of movement, of color and sound—and everything happens the way it’s supposed to, effortlessly, like a beautiful machine. Even though Blaine has planned this, he’s in awe himself. As Blaine moves to his position at the bottom of the stairs, he watches Rachel escorting Kurt, and notes Kurt’s expression—full of wonder—which makes Blaine utterly happy. 

_Fearlessly and forever,_ is all he can think as Kurt approaches him on the stairs, and then, in what feels all-of-a-sudden, it’s _time_. 

“We met right here,” Blaine starts, partly addressing Kurt, partly the crowd, but soon after there’s nothing but his lover, and laying it all on the line. 

 

After a breathy “Yes,” and a kiss Blaine will never forget, it’s over—or is it just beginning? Kurt and Blaine stay put at the bottom of the stairs while everyone stops to congratulate them. A receiving line actually forms, there are so many well wishers, and Blaine is reminded of standing impatiently (and getting tugged along by Cooper) at family weddings as a kid. 

The last person in line is Mr. Hummel, who wipes a tear from his eye before pulling both Blaine and Kurt into a crushing hug. “Happy for you,” he mutters, and soon the three of them are shaking and crying, just a little, and Blaine feels a guilty tug in his gut at Mr. Hummel sharing this moment with them, but not his own parents. Honestly, there are so _many_ people who got to witness this. 

With all his planning, maybe he didn’t think some things through. 

“Leave your car here, son,” Mr. Hummel says, looking at Blaine. “Ride with us to the airport, and I’ll bring you back after.” 

Kurt beams and reaches for Blaine’s hand, swinging it back and forth playfully. “I’ll sit in back with you,” he says softly.

Blaine smiles at that, and they leave Dalton and head for the Hummels’ car. 

 

The ride to the airport is mostly quiet—it’s bittersweet, really, after such a lovely morning, to have to say goodbye, to not even get to be alone anywhere at all, having been in front of a crowd all this time. So Blaine nestles his head in the crook of Kurt’s neck, and they go over again and again the details Blaine (with a lot of help) had attended to. Kurt, of course, had noticed everything. “Those Warbler dance steps looked familiar,” he muses. “Dalton never looked so lovely.” He nudges Blaine with his elbow so he can turn to look at him squarely before adding, “It was always a place I _escaped_ to, and even though I found you there it was never _home_. But you . . . Today you made it something _different_ , Blaine. Something _magical_.”

Blaine’s smile can’t get any wider. It stays there as he tucks his head again against Kurt’s neck.

Then a thought occurs to Blaine. “Your suit,” he says simply, lifting his head once more to look Kurt in the eyes. Kurt’s wearing a poker face, and then Blaine knows. Because Kurt’s poker face is _terrible_. 

“You knew,” Blaine says simply.

Kurt laughs. “Well—of _course_ I knew! I mean, you were acting strangely since we got back together, making up a million excuses for why we couldn’t do something as simple as grab a coffee. Granted, you’re busier than you were last year—like, _Rachel_ levels of busier—but I couldn’t shake the feeling that you were hiding something.” His eyes grow wide as he looks at Blaine. “Not a _bad_ something! But come on, we’ve hardly had time together this week!” 

“I’m so sorry,” starts Blaine. “I—”

“No. _No_ , Blaine. Don’t do that, okay?”

“Do what?”

“Apologize. I’m just saying that I knew something was up.”

“But how did you know I was going to propose?”

“Well, I dunno, exactly. There was a way you were looking at me the other night, that’s all.”

Blaine bumps his shoulder against Kurt’s. “What way?” he asks quietly.

Kurt pauses for a long time; he leans back against the headrest. Blaine glances beyond Kurt and out the car windows. He notices other drivers—the elderly woman clutching the steering wheel tightly, the plumber taking a swig of coffee from his high seat in his truck, the teenager shifting her gaze between mirrors as her mother sits in the passenger seat. He drifts back to Kurt, who’s still just gazing at him. “Like there was nothing else that mattered to you in the world, but me. But it was more than that—I could see you imagining our future,” he laughs. “You were picking out china patterns.”

Blaine chuckles. “So you decided to get dressed up today, just in case.”

Kurt puffs out his chest, clearly pleased with himself. “I’ll have you know that while you were in school yesterday I drove a great distance to find this suit.”

“Remind me to thank the store clerk who helped you with that.”

“I didn’t need any help, Blaine. The second I saw it, I knew.” 

Blaine beams. He’s lighter than air, so light he could probably take Kurt’s hand and fly him to New York himself.

 

Sam and Tina end up at Blaine’s house later that afternoon, and the ordinariness of that coupled with Kurt having left on a plane so quickly after the proposal and Blaine picking up his car at a very quiet Dalton afterwards makes it feel as if none of what happened that morning were real. But the gold suit hangs on the coat rack in his room, waiting to be cleaned, and there’s a good collection of photos on his laptop now that he wants to scrapbook, and one image in particular—of him and Kurt hand in hand in the warm sun—that he plans to frame.

The trio spend their time as they often do, listening to music and talking about Nationals, so close now, but conversation keeps circling back to Dalton and the engagement. Tina insists that Blaine help plan her own engagement someday _(whoever the guy ends up being, you just have to help him, Blainey Days—his proposal has to be perfect!)_ while Sam wonders aloud whether a bunch of dancing Warbler dudes are really that much better then his reindeer-Cheerios. 

“Plus the world was ending,” says Sam, as the three of them descend the stairs so Sam and Tina can get home. “Whereas today is just Saturday.” 

Blaine rolls his eyes at his friend, just before Sam gathers all three of them into a giant hug. “Thanks again you guys,” Blaine mutters into Sam’s shirt. He ushers his friends out the door before his parents arrive, partly out of fear they’ll let slip that he is now actually _engaged._

 

He isn’t sure why he can’t tell them. 

“Have you heard from any of the colleges yet, son?” his father asks the next morning. 

_No,_ Blaine thinks, still in a bit of shock at the events of yesterday. _But I’ve heard from Kurt. I got . . . accepted,_ he thinks, smiling, even though Kurt is now gone again. But it’s all okay. _Everything_ is okay.

“I’m sure you will soon,” his mother says as a show of support. “And I’m happy for you,” she adds. “You’ll be where you want to be soon enough. And for what it’s worth, I’m happy Kurt will be there, too. He’s a nice boy.”

“He’s a _man_ now, Mom, and I—”

_And I’m going to be his husband._ Why won’t the words come? Or why won’t he utter them out loud when they do? He wishes _he_ was the one with the ring, so the conversation would be as easy as him waving his left hand around a little, as easy as light reflecting off metal.

He starts imagining ways to tell them. He starts making plans. He speaks the words into his dresser mirror at night, his own reflection eyeing him without judgement. 

It turns out that there is no perfect time.

One morning the three of them are in the final stages of preparations before leaving for work and school. His mother has stepped out to the garage to place her work heels and laptop bag in the back seat, while his father’s brogues make a crisp sound as he strides past Blaine in the kitchen. As his mother steps back into the house to say goodbye to both men, Blaine thinks about how ordinary this part of their day is, the simple routine of wishing each other well before meeting again at night. It’s not a special occasion, but it strikes him as an act of trust all the same, that he trusts they will see each other after a day apart.

He’s still stuck in his thinking when he notices his parents turning to head out the door again. He calls out to them in a single rushed breath, “I asked Kurt to marry me.” 

And then he waits for what seems like _forever._

They turn around and glance at each other, then back at him.

Then, just as his mother asks, “What did he say?” his father talks over her, eyes rolling, “Oh, who are you kidding? You knew already!”

It takes a moment for Blaine to register that. “Wait. What?” says Blaine. 

“Cooper,” his mother says, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Blaine, to spoil your surprise.”

“Wait. What?” He’s not sure what he’s reacting to. That they’re not angry, that they already knew, that Cooper _told,_ or that his parents seem so utterly  _unfazed_ by any of it.

“Aren’t you . . . angry at me?” he asks. “I’m still in high school! I used a small chunk of my savings to buy a _ring_. A very _nice_ ring! I—”

Blaine has no words, with the way his parents are standing there grinning madly at him.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, a little perturbed now. “I thought you were mad I was back together with Kurt!” he blurts.

His parents look at each other, confusion all over their faces. His mother speaks up first. “Why would you think that?” 

“Because,” starts Blaine. “Because of all I went through when he was gone? Because of how you reacted when I told you we made up? Because you asked me to apply to all these other schools? I just—”

“Look, Blaine,” says his father, moving closer to put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You’re _engaged—_ it doesn’t mean you’re getting married _tomorrow_. I mean, you can’t here, right? In Ohio? And you two are not exactly independent of your parents, financially speaking. You haven’t even started college!” 

“You _are_ so young,” his mother adds, crossing the room to be at his side too. “That doesn’t mean you can’t possibly know what you want. But truth be told, being engaged is going to affect all the choices you make from now on. You can’t blame us for wanting things to be easier for you.”

“Well, truth be told,” says Blaine, repeating his mother’s words, “I think having Kurt by my side makes everything easier. It makes me _happier_ , I know that much. Thanks for being honest with me though,” he adds. “And I’m sorry for not telling you what was going on.”

“And I’m sorry,” says his dad, “that we didn’t _see_ what was going on. Can we just blame that damn Aflac duck and move on?” he laughs.

“Sure, Dad,” Blaine replies, as his parents pull him in for a hug. “But just for the record? I really kind of hate that duck.”

His parents sigh in response, and Blaine chooses to interpret that as a small victory.

 

Outside his locker later that morning, Blaine’s standing in the empty corridor. What does it matter that he’s late? He’s a senior, he’s practically done with McKinley. And right now, he’s got to talk to his brother—he doesn’t care if he wakes him up, either. In fact, waking him up is precisely what he wants to do. So he texts, **_I told them._** He doesn’t wait long for Cooper’s response:

_Finally! And—I know._

_Are you okay?_

_Dad wonders if you’ll give up the Anderson name._

**_What?_ **

_And I think Mom was a little sad she didn’t get to see it. But she’ll never admit to that._

_Tell me someone took a video? You could’ve tweeted it to me you know._

_And just—don’t go eloping or anything, okay? No spur-of-the-moment getting hitched?_

**_Between Kurt and me I don’t think that’s even *possible* honestly._ **

**_And thanks, Coop._**

Blaine smiles as he pockets his phone, knowing he isn’t going to bother thinking about any of that, about ceremonies and flower arrangements, dinner menus and favors. Tuxedos, limos, music . . . None of it matters at the moment.

Because Kurt said _yes_ , and it will be some time before he even gets over that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! It makes me so happy to be finished with it, especially before we head to new New York. And special thanks again to Gnomerino, for being such an excellent and thoughtful beta.


End file.
